Sleep, Perchance to Dream
by IDontKnow1-9
Summary: Set after the end of 3x24, even after the Nogitsune is destroyed, the McCall pack can barely mourn for their dead without being tossed into danger yet again. Derek is in intensive care after the effects of the gunshot wound, and it is having strange effects on Stiles. The pack is getting into even more trouble, and the main villain is darker than the last. Rated M for safety.


**Hey there everybody! This is my first Teen Wolf fic, and I hope you all enjoy it! I was going to do a one shot but then I had more ideas and it was getting really long so... multific here we go!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing otherwise there would have been a lot less death of main characters on the show and my couples would have happened already**

Sleep, Perchance to Dream: Chapter 1

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

The hospital monitor and its monotonous melody are the only background noise in the staunch, white room. Its only occupant: an unconscious man in his twenties, with bearded face and tan skin. He lay pliantly on the uncomfortable cot, palms open, with different tubes running in and out of his arms. A single tube runs down his throat, hooked up to an unknown machine in the sea of technology. He's being pumped with something drip, drip, dripping from a bag on his left, while the bag on his right collects the waste being pumped out from another tube. He looks asleep, resting comfortably in his little forever while the world around him continues to move without him. The clipboard at the end of his bed has all his charts, his stats, and his information.

You wouldn't think he'd had been shot earlier that day through the chest.

The fact that he was still breathing was a medical mystery, but the doctors of Beacon Hills aren't ones to turn a blind eye to miracles, especially after the massacre that painted the halls of the hospital days before. They are still recovering.

The young man is under observation, and through the glass window of the room, the doctor and the patient's closest family watch.

"Is he going to wake up, doctor?" a young man with wild hair asks, whiskey eyes fixed on the drip, following each drop that fell into the tube, and into the man. He doesn't turn as the doctor starts to address him, or as his friend with the crooked jaw places his hand on his shoulder, or the girl with the red hair grabs his hand. It's all white noise to him. The word "soon" was never spoken, and the rest he just blocked out. But everyone else heard the doctor.

"The fact that he is even alive is a miracle, but there is no sign he might ever wake up. We'll just have to… hope for the best."

The doctor leaves soon after that, being whisked away to another lost cause in the white maze.

The group of five still stand there, watching the rise and fall of the pumps as it pushes oxygen into their friend's body.

"He's going to pull through, Stiles," the tan boy with puppy eyes whispers, hoping to reassure his friend with the half-hearted gesture. Stiles shrugs the hand off his shoulder and continues to stare at the sleeping figure.

"He's been through worse," the blonde in the corner offers, "and he always lands on his feet."

"I haven't known him for long," the pretty Asian next to the tan boy adds, "but from what I have seen he is very strong."

The red-headed girl pipes up, "It's all going to be okay, Stiles-"

"Will you all just shut. Up!"

The pale, lanky boy turns on his friends, sending them all back a step or two. Their eyes widen as his squint in frustration.

"Do any of you know what you are even talking about? Did any of you just happen to find him bleeding to death in his own loft? Were you the ones who had to carry him all the way to the hospital, and sit there waiting for even the slightest hint of whether he was going to make it! Did you! Did you! Did-"

He sinks to the ground, tears pooling around his eyes as he starts to shake. He chokes on the sobs trying to make their way out of his throat, and he doesn't want to deal with it all anymore. They just made it out of the fire, they've buried their dead and only started to mourn. He just cannot deal with one more body to add to the pile.

The red headed girl reaches out, ready to comfort, but the tan boy grabs her. Stops her.

"Leave him be, Lydia," he sighs, dejectedly, "he needs his space."

"But Scott-" she protests, but with one quick glance at her alpha's gaze, she relinquishes her quest, and journeys out of the room with the other three.

Stiles stays there, crying, wheezing, hurting, remembering the day's events like a terrible promo for a movie.

_He's driving around in his jeep, just cruising. Relaxing. It's been a while since he could just be by himself, with him and his car. No dark side. No demon ninjas. Only him and the road, his head clear and lost in the asphalt._

_ Without thinking, he drives himself towards Derek's loft. When he parks in front of the building's doors, he realizes what he's been doing. His head swivels towards the window where he knows Derek's room is, and thinks 'what the hell! It's been awhile!'_

_ He pulls the keys out of the ignition._

_ He buzzes for an answer._

_ None._

_ Stiles can clearly see Derek's Camaro parked nearby, so he can't be out._

_ He tries again._

_ No answer._

_ Now Stiles is starting to get anxious. He tries to calm down, reassuring himself that all their troubles are behind them._

_ He picks the lock._

_ The entire elevator ride up is spent flexing fingers and a bouncing leg. Once the doors open to Derek's floor, he's in a hurried sprint towards the door._

_ It's ajar, busted open with no door knob, that being blasted to the side._

_ He pushes it open, expects the worse, and wishes he wasn't always right._

_ There lies Derek, in a puddle of blood, a hole in his chest._

_ "Derek…" Stiles manages to wheeze out, before rushing to his side. He picks up his head and stares at the pale, bruised face, wondering what happened; hoping that he is alive. His fingers caress the side of his face before resting at his neck, feeling for a pulse._

_ Faint… but still there._

_ Stiles must have just missed the attack. Bodies are strewn across the loft, all dead. He's still looking around, when his attention is grabbed by a sharp gasp and a hand on his._

_ Derek's eyes are wide, staring at Stiles's fingers._

_ "Five…" he whispers, then looks at Stiles's face, "s'not…dream."_

_ Then he passes out again._

_ "Derek…" Stiles shakes him, "DEREK!"_

_ He's not going to last any longer if Stiles doesn't get him to a hospital this instant. Running on adrenaline, Stiles picks up Derek, and starts the arduous journey towards his car._

_ After defying the lift limit of his body and strapping the dying werewolf (not dying, bleeding) into the passenger seat, Stiles is off. Breaking all the rules of the road, going way over the speed limit, doing whatever he can to get himself to the hospital._

_ He doesn't even park. He pulls up to the main entrance, leaves the car running, then rushes into the front office, shouting "I need help!" and directing the hospital staff as to where to go._

After that it was just waiting. For Derek to get better. For his friends to arrive. For God to take pity on his life and make everything better. Take your pick.

The tears keep falling for his friend, always in pain. His life has been a continuous tidal wave of angst and emotion, never finding rest in a sea of danger. Anyone he trusted ended up betraying him in the end. His heart breaks for the broken man lying in the hospital cot a few feet away, separated by the glass and plaster.

It's only when a nurse, an old one with a pitying stare and gentle voice, shakes him from his thoughts.

"Visiting hours are over, dearie."

He leaves the hospital, looking like the very patients they cater to.

* * *

"How has he been handling it?"

Lydia and Scott watch Stiles from afar, the teen looking paler than usual, his whiskey eyes usually vibrant with energy dull and lifeless, his clothes askew. He looks a mess, and worse than when the nogitsune was using his body like a trailer.

"Not well," Scott sighs, and turns to the banshee at his side, "he's been slacking on everything. School work, lacrosse practice, research. It's like he's lost all will to even do anything."

"Well, when you find someone on the verge of death, ready to fall off that cliff, it's hard to deal with," Lydia rationalizes.

They both turn back to watch Stiles, but find him gone from his locker.

"You know these hallways reverberate sound. Makes everything louder."

They both turn to find their very object of observation staring at them with an accusing glare. Both heads look down in shame.

"Stiles," Scott starts, only to be cut off by a raised hand.

"Don't," Stiles says, "I don't want to hear it. I just want you all to leave me alone."

And with that he turns on his heel, and stalks off to his next class.

"Isolating yourself isn't the best way to deal with things!" Lydia shouts to the empty air, thankfully everyone else having found their respective classrooms. Stiles, even if he heard her, says nothing as he rounds the corner. She slumps onto Scott. "What are we going to do with him?"

"Respect his wishes," Scott mumbles to the red head on his shoulder, "he'll come to us when he's ready."

Lydia looks up at her alpha, "I'm not known for being patient."

Scott grins at her, moving away and tugging at her bag, "C'mon then Ms. Persistent, let's go to class."

Lydia follows after him, a smile gracing her features as her heels click click click on the linoleum tiles of the hallway.

* * *

_"Go back."_

_ He's running in the woods, trees fly by his vision. Branches shake with the force he bats them, moving them out of his path. It feels like he hasn't moved an inch. He speeds up, but the trees still look the same. It's like being stuck on a treadmill in the middle of the forest._

_ "Stiles, go back!"_

_ The voice is familiar… he's heard it before. The soft tenor lilts through the wind. The words phase him, making him shiver with a sensation he's never felt before._

_ He trips._

_ He lands face first on a pile of leaves, and when he looks up he realizes he has made it out of the confusing wood and into a small clearing. There, standing in the middle, is a man with his back turned. Stiles stares at the rippling muscles on the stranger's back, the desire to touch them coursing through his mind while his body is frozen with shock._

_ The man turns around. "Stiles…" he whispers._

_ Stiles recognizes that strong jaw, those piercing eyes, the bushy eyebrows._

_ It's Derek!_

_ Stiles shakes the fallen leaves off of his clothes and rushes towards the man who should be in the hospital. "Derek!" He runs into Derek's outstretched arms, feeling a sense of warmth flow through him that he's never felt with anyone before. It's… weird, yet still safe._

_ "Stiles," Derek mutters into his hair, then pulls him away to address him to his face. His hands grip Stiles's arms through the thin fabric of his hoodie. "I need you to go back."_

_ "What?" Stiles asks, confused as to what Derek is asking of him._

_ "Go back Stiles," he continues, "go back." Derek starts to disappear then._

_ "Derek?" Stiles reaches out, trying to hold onto him. "Derek?"_

"Derek!"

Stiles shoots up from his bed, panting, eyes flittering about his room. He's in his room. Not in the woods. Not with… Derek.

A cold feeling spreads within him as he realizes he is completely alone.

"It was all a dream?" he asks the quiet room, still not believing that he was actually there while his mind was off on a fantasy chase.

"…But it all seemed so real…"

_"Go back Stiles."_

Stiles looks around for the ownerless voice, only realizing that it came from his mind after a couple of minutes of fruitless search. It was the eerily similar to the voice he heard in his dreams. He looks out his window.

"Where do you want me to go, Derek?"

As if the answer was in the window, Stiles's eyes widen, and soon he is slipping his feet into his sneakers and grabbing the keys to his jeep from his desk and quietly slipping out of the house.

* * *

The door was left open, no one bothering to close it from the last time they were here. However the police tape left there, warning others not to cross shows that others besides him were there. He pulls it over his head and he shakily makes his way into the loft. His eyes scan the chalk outlines of the people who confronted Derek at his loft. Then he finds the dried pool of blood that belonged to the former alpha. Stiles stiffens, but continues forward.

Derek must have wanted him to find something there, something that he must have missed before. A clue that will lead him to the person who did this… this… horrible act.

Stiles's mouth set in a grim line as he puts every other though out of his mind, and begins the process of thoroughly checking the room, trying to find what the police at the Beacon Hills Sheriff Department must have missed. He's scouring through every inch of the perimeter, feeling his way through every nook and cranny.

He finds a set of claw marks on one of the support beams.

A torn piece of fabric, from a blouse, stained with blood.

There wasn't much, but he also finds that Derek's room has been torn apart, whoever was here interested in something that was in the room.

He's about to leave the house when his eyes catch something glinting on Derek's bed. The moonlight is reflecting off of the metal fixtures on Derek's leather jacket, strewn across the bed, like he had just flung it there after returning from a night out.

'_They must have attacked him just when he got home…_'

Realization dawns on Stiles as he makes his way towards the prized possession of Derek Hale, picking it up reverently, with shaking hands and glassy eyes. His legs wobble until he can no longer stand, and he collapses in on himself, hugging the leather tightly to his body, his eyes leaking uncontrollably. His chest heaves with uncontained sobs, wracking his body one right after the other.

"He barely had any time to put it away…" Stiles mutters, cursing whoever did this to the werewolf of few smiles. Wherever he went, danger followed. Trouble hounded him like a crazy ex, and it always caught up to Derek in the end.

This time it left more than just a few marks.

"A shame… right?"

Claws caress Stiles face, and his entire body stops. The boy of constant energy, always moving, never slowing down, has come to a complete halt. The nails are sharpened, deadly, and belong to a black hand. The voice slides down his back like slime, with faux seduction laced within the sarcastic words. It's a woman that much he can tell. Stiles pulls the leather jacket even closer to him as the woman's heels make connection with the wooden floors. She makes her way until she stops right in front of Stiles. He can just make out her boots, all leather and commando. They were definitely made for walking…

"Look at me when I speak to you!"

The boot comes closer to roughly push Stiles face up until he's looking right into the green eyes of the vile woman. Her face is like midnight, with symmetrical spots surrounding the outskirts of her face. White, sharp fangs hang from her open mouth, in a sinister snarl. Stiles's eyes crinkle in familiarity, he recognizes the face, but he cannot place the name.

It's only until the were-creature shifts back into her human form that he can place the devilish face framed by the lighter hair, and Stiles is struck speechless.

"It can't… it just can't be… Pe-Peter _killed_ you!"

However, standing in the flesh, is none other than the hunter with a penchant for arson: Kate Argent.

"Well," she purrs, "he didn't do a good job…"

She crouches down until she is now eye-level with the scared teen. Stiles's brain, which had been frozen by sheer terror, starts to work on overdrive, and he puts the pieces together.

"It was you…" he starts.

"What was me, Stiles? What did poor little Kate Argent do?" she coos, mocking him.

Stiles starts to get angry. "You shot Derek didn't you!"

"Well, looks like this puppy isn't just all bark," she cackles standing up, "it could have been me. I mean, I do just _love_ to see Derek suffer…"

Stiles stands as well, the grip on the leather never slacking, "Stop it! You heartless bitch! You should be dead-"

He doesn't even get to finish talking as Kate is upon him, fully-shifted and driving Stiles against the wall, a hand wrapped around his neck.

"And you can be dead, if you continue to talk to me like that." She mutters, conviction dripping from her words. Stiles gulps, and quiets down.

"Now," she says, "the only reason I'm letting you live is because I need a messenger." She lets go of his neck, and re-shifts, starting to stalk away. "Tell your precious little pack that I am back… and I am gunning for them. Derek was only the beginning…" With that, Kate stalks out of the room, leaving Stiles alone in the room. The entire encounter has drained him, he cannot believe what he had just seen. They've lost one Argent, and gained another. It's just too much.

Stiles stares down at the leather in his hand, remembering that he is still holding it, and then decides what to do. He puts the leather on, cold from the disuse, and pulls it tight against his body. He kicks off his shoes and crawls into Derek's bed, breathing in the scent the former occupant left. It's a nice mixture of woods and nice cologne. It makes Stiles dizzy, but in a good way. The danger he was in is soon forgotten as he wraps himself in the warm cocoon of safety Derek has unconsciously left for him. And with that… Stiles drifts off to sleep.

* * *

"No, Mr. Stilinski, Stiles isn't with me…" Scott says over the phone, trying to calm the worried father. Sherriff Stilinski called Scott up early on Saturday, waking the tired teen from his deep slumber. Stiles was supposed to visit for a pack meeting later that day, but usually he came over earlier to just hang out with Scott. Today, however, was not the case. "Yes, yes, if I do see him I'll let him know how grounded he is. …Don't worry, I'll find him. You go to work and I'll call when I find him. …Goodbye, Sherriff."

With that final word, Scott turns the phone off, then lays back down.

'_C'mon Stiles… can't you go one month without getting into trouble…'_

Wracking his mind for options, he decides on the best one: call Lydia. The phone rests in his hand, the dial tone loud, as he waits for the banshee to pick up. He connects after the third ring.

"What is it Scott?" she mutters, waking up as well. She runs a hand through her red curls, trying to draw out her tiredness through simple actions. Her eyes remain shut, until the news Scott tells her makes them almost pop out of her head. Lydia jumps from her bed and is already moving around her room, getting ready. "I'll be there in twenty," is all she says before she hangs up the phone and heads towards the shower.

Scott looks down at his phone, smirking at the instant change in Lydia's attitude. She would probably never admit it, but Stiles is probably her best friend, especially after…

He blinks back the tears. It's still too soon.

He gets up from the bed and from the traumatizing thoughts, Scott pads his way towards his own shower, deciding to freshen up a bit before Lydia stops by.

Lydia arrives in nineteen minutes. She is greeted by the relaxed smile of Melissa McCall. "Good morning!" Lydia chirps, putting on a false face of happiness, hiding her actual anxiety.

"Hello Lydia," Melissa answers by pointing upstairs, "Scott's still in his room. Stiles isn't with him though."

"Oh that's okay, I'm here to talk to Scott anyway. Have a nice day!" Lydia breezes past Melissa and makes her way up the stairs, almost running. Melissa is a little suspicious, but decides to look the other way for now.

Lydia quickly finds the door to Scott's room and opens the door…

…only to bang headfirst into a shirtless Scott McCall with nothing but a towel around his body to cover his manhood. They fall to the floor in a heap, with her on top of him. Lydia looks into Scott's eyes and they both shine with awkwardness and fear. Lydia's pale skin takes on a hue akin to her hair. Both bodies are frozen in shock… except for one that is causing a big problem.

"Scott…" Lydia starts slowly, her wide eyes now narrowing into slits, "that better not be what I think it is pressing up against my leg."

Scott scrambles to his feet, knocking Lydia back onto the floor in the process. She glares at him, and he sheepishly offers his hand in forgiveness. She takes it, and hefts herself onto steady ground again.

"Hello to you to, Lyds," Scott mumbles, looking anywhere that is not at a strawberry blonde banshee.

She crosses her arm across her chest, looks down, and stutters out: "S-so, Stiles, ahem, right?"

"Y-yeah," Scott agrees, getting back on the purpose of this visit, "he wasn't home last night, and his dad has no idea where he is."

"So?" Lydia questions, "what if he had to go do something?"

"With the way he's been acting this week?" Scott asks rhetorically.

Lydia hums in agreement, then settles on Scott's bed to think. While she thinks Scott grabs some clothes from the drawer and moves to change in the adjoining bathroom. When he returns, Lydia is lying on his bed, hair fanned about her, and her black and white dress poofing up. Her alabaster legs are stretched out and her arms lay at her sides. She reminds Scott of Snow White, and he has to shake himself out of the state he found himself in, and coughs to get her attention. She lifts her head from the bed:

"Yes?"

"What should we do?"

"Well if you would let me think-"

She was going to continue her rant, but luckily for Scott, his phone decided to ring at that very moment. Lydia stares at the infernal device, and with a silent nod gives Scott the okay to answer it. He fumbles for the phone while the banshee returns to her former position. He looks to see who is calling him, and when he recognizes it's Stiles, he hurriedly answers the phone.

"Stiles?!" Scott half-asks, half-yells, garnering the attention of Lydia who flings herself back into an upright position.

"Actually, no, it's Peter," the voice on the other end replies.

"Peter?" Scott says confusedly, Lydia by his side listening in. The confusion passes and Scott becomes angry soon after. "What did you do with Stiles?"

"Easy there, alpha puppy," Peter sarcastically replies, "I did nothing to your boy toy. I went over to Derek's loft to check on a few things, and I find him curled up in his bed like a widow waiting for her soldier to return from the war. Come and get him!"

And with that the line goes dead, and Lydia and Scott's nerves calm down. They know where Stiles went, but now the need to know the why. Scott moves to grab his keys and head out the door, but Lydia grabs his arm before he can get very far.

"Where are you going?"

"To get Stiles," he says, dangling the keys in front of her face, "you coming with?"

Lydia mulls it over for a minute. "Fine," she sighs defeatedly, "but if I get helmet hair I will stuff your ass so full of wolfsbane you'll walk like a pincushion."

She moves ahead of him and makes her way down the stairs and out the door, followed closely by Scott. Melissa catches the two of them leaving. "Where are you guys heading?"

They stop. "Out," Scott says, before pushing Lydia along and heading out the door as quick as possible.

Melissa sighs. "If you get injured I'm not going to be the one to stich you up!" she calls, knowing full well her son can hear her, before returning to the living room to continue her marathon of bad network dramas.

Scott blushes a little before starting the bike. Lydia is already straddling the bike, arms around the alpha, and she gives him a curious look. He turns to face her. "Something my mom said…"

"Oh," Lydia huffs, then readjusts herself as the bike is finally started, and the two are on their way to the loft.

Lydia's hair gets pulled by the breeze, the strands uncovered by the helmet fly around her like a cape. Scott is going fast, trying to get to Stiles as soon as possible. This would be a good thing, if he was riding solo, and not with someone who has a mistrust of bikes. With every pothole and rock, she jumps and grips tighter to the stomach of one Scott McCall. His body is warm, and the cold chill biting into her skin forces her to retreat closer to his back. The warmth moves from him to her, and rolls over her body in soft waves. She focuses on this instead of the riding, and is only pulled from her thoughts when Scott shakes her arms free of his waist.

"Sorry," he apologizes, "we're here."

They both made their way off the bike, parked next to Stiles's jeep, and make their way towards the loft. It's a quick trip, and soon they are meeting the former crazed wolf in the living room of his nephew, white tape of body after body surrounding him.

"Nice of you to hurry," he says, then looks to Lydia with a smirk, "and to bring such a lovely gift…"

"Can it Hale," Lydia bites back, "where's Stiles?"

"If you would just follow me," he beckons, and then starts to move forward. The two teens exchange wary looks, yet have no choice but to follow the "repentant" werewolf. When they reach the closed off room of one Derek Hale, Peter puts a finger to his sleep in the universal gesture, then quietly opens the door with a flourish.

Inside the room lay Stiles, asleep, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets and Derek's leather jacket. He's hugging one of Derek's pillows and rests his head on the rest of them. There's a tiny trail of drool leaving his mouth, but the sleep Stiles is in seems to be the most peaceful sleep he's ever experienced.

"How is Stiles asleep!" Scott whispers, "He doesn't even have his pillow!"

"Let's just be happy he's asleep," Peter whispers back, "after everything he's been through."

"Well he won't be asleep for long," Lydia says, moving towards the sleeping teen, grabbing an edge of the blanket, and ripping it from the bed, forcing Stiles to tumble off the other side with a startled yelp. He jumps to his feet, still in a frenzy, his eyes landing everywhere until they find the three other occupants of the room. He relaxes soon after.

"What are you guys doing in my room?"

His question is answered by three blank stares.

"Stiles," Scott starts, walking forward little by little, "this isn't your room. We're in Derek's loft…"

Stiles's eyes widen at this, and with another quick look about the room, realizes that they are indeed telling the truth.

"Oh…" is all he says before collapsing back on the bed. He grips the leather jacket around him, then realizes what he is wearing. This only makes his hold tighten.

"Stiles…" Lydia approaches this time, sitting next to him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, "do you remember what happened last night?"

She's staring right at him, with a gaze that is both comforting yet penetrating, trying to unlock the secrets that are within him. Stiles tries to focus on anything but the eyes on him, and tries to piece together the events of last night not only for the others, but for himself as well.

"Last night…" he starts, "I had a dream. Derek was in it." He turns to the others. "He was telling me to 'go back'. I didn't know what he meant at first, but when I did… I just had this urge to go."

"So you came here last night," Scott says aloud, realization dawning on him.

"Well what did you find?" Peter asked, "Because you certainly did not make a mess of this loft just for his jacket."

"No, no…" Stiles whispers, "the jacket was on the bed. And…" He looks up at this point, his whiskey colored eyes expressing terror and disbelief. "I didn't do this."

"Then who, Stiles? Who?" Lydia presses on, the urge to know overwhelming her.

"It was… Kate." Stiles gulps, looking away. The fear fully hits him, since admitting it made the whole thing more real.

"Argent?" Peter scoffs, "Last time I remember she had a terrible run in with my _claws_."

"But it was!" Stiles stands now, conviction laced within his voice, "she was here and she was threatening me and, and-"

"And what, Stiles? What?" Scott moves until he is directly in front of Stiles.

"And she's coming for you. Us. And she won't stop… until we're all dead."

Stiles is visibly shaking by this point, looking like a lost kid engulfed in the dark leather. His knees wobble and his hands are tremoring. His eyes are watery, and he cannot handle the stress of the situation. Kate is alive. Kate shot Derek. Kate is on her way to kill the rest of them. She must have wanted to kill Derek. What's stopping her from pulling the plug-

He looks up, with a look of pure terror, and starts to move.

"We have to go to the hospital!"

"What, Stiles?" Lydia stands, confusion etched onto her face, "we just found you. Your dad was worried about you, we should get you home."

"No, no, no, no, no," Stiles is muttering, "she's alive. She did it. She hurt Derek. What's stopping her from finishing the job? We have to go protect him!"

"Stiles you're freaking out," Scott grabs him by the shoulders, "calm down. CALM DOWN!"

Scott's eyes flare red, and his voice lowers, going alpha-tone. Stiles stops his rambling, calming down as per his alpha's orders. Peter looks on jealously, wishing he still had those powers, and Lydia looks on astonished and flustered, by the power in Scott's voice.

Stiles looks down, "But…Derek…"

Scott offers him support, "Yes, Stiles, I know. But I'm sure he's fine. If he were to die I would feel it, and Lydia would too, wouldn't you Lydia?" He looks to her, and she refocuses on the situation and gives a quick nod. "But you won't be any help to us, to Derek, if you're obsessing over something that is probably never going to happen."

Lydia steps forward now. "C'mon Stiles," she grabs his hand, "let's bring you home."

Stiles looks from the concerned faces of both friends, and realizes how crazy he's been acting. Derek wouldn't want him to act like this. And his friends definitely would not want him to act like this. He sets his mouth in a firm line of determination. "Okay. Yes, you guys are right. I need… I need to focus. No more letting my emotions getting the best of me."

The three then go silent, sharing the moment, until Peter decides to continue being Peter.

"What a sweet family moment from Mama and Papa Alpha, but if you please?" He motions them towards the door, and the trio get the hint. They exit, leaving the former psychopath to clean up the loft, and make their way to their vehicles. Scott hops on his bike while Lydia and Stiles enter his jeep, and they both make their way towards the Stilinski household.

* * *

The door opens, and the Sheriff is upon them faster than a dog sniffing bacon.

"Stiles!" he says, "I've been worried sick! Can you for once try to _not_ sneak out at night!"

"Dad," Stiles huffs, "I'm fine. A little shaken up, but fine over all."

"Well next time…" the Sherriff quiets, "just… be careful."

Stiles looks at his father, matching weary gaze to weary gaze, but still mustering up a small smile, "I will dad."

The Sherriff then takes notice of his son's clothes. "Um… Stiles… isn't that leather jacket a little too big for you?"

Stiles looks down, and only then notices the warm coat hanging from his slim frame. He grabs hold of the flaps, and pulls it tighter. He feels safer, somehow.

"Yeah…" he mutters, face downcast, "but I like it."

Stiles then retreats to his room, face flushed, with a small excuse of being tired, leaving the other three in the room. The elder male looks at the two other teens in the room, asking millions of questions with just his eyes.

Scott is the first to break the silence, with a tired sigh. "We found him at Derek's. He was sleeping."

"How could he be asleep?" the Sherriff asks, "he didn't have his pillow!?"

"But he did have something else…" Lydia says wistfully looking at the stairs.

The Sherriff mulls this over, looking from the stairs to the teens, mouth agape, like he wants to say something but can't find the words.

"He needed the rest," Scot continues, "he hasn't been sleeping, and… well… last night-"

"What happened last night?"

And so Scott recounts the details of the night before the best he can to the worried father, urging safety when he tells the Sherriff that Stiles is in a fragile state right now, and that any bad news about Derek can seriously affect him.

"I don't know what's going on with him," Scott admits, "it's seems that ever since Derek was shot something just… broke within him. And we don't know how to fix him."

"Give him some space," the Sherriff advises, "knowing my son, he'll come to you when he's ready to face whatever he is dealing with."

Scott huffs out a sigh, but accepts the inevitability none the less. He turns to Lydia. "You need a ride home?"

She shakes her head a little. "Not really," she says, "but I could go for a distraction. You want to get something to eat?"

He gives her a small smile. "Sure," he says quietly, then holds the door open for her as they leave the Sherriff to deal with his son.

The elder man rubs his face, trying his best to wipe away the worry lines and creases that have developed, but to no avail. He glances up the stairs, at his son's room, and can't help but let the sadness for his son's situation flow through him. He knows the pain his son is going through, and wishes he did not have to find out what he went through all those years ago first hand. He moves towards the cabinet, for his whiskey.

* * *

_"Stiles…"_

_ Stiles opens his eyes, and warm whiskey is greeted by a swirling greyish green. Those eyes hold silent joy, as they unabashedly rake over the prone figure of the boy in front of him. Stiles is spread eagle on the forest floor. He stands to attention when he realizes the eyes belong to Derek. Small smiles are reflected on each face as Stiles stares at the leaf-strewn floor instead of the gorgeous man in front of him. Derek's eyes remain on Stiles._

_ "Hi…" Stiles gets out, his throat oddly tight with emotion. He knows he is dreaming. He remembers leaving Scott, Lydia, and his dad downstairs, entering his bed, and when his head hit the pillow._

_ 'But this feels so… real…' he thinks, face red, eyes linking with Derek's again._

_ "Hey," Derek responds, hands in his pockets. He's wearing a faded blue t-shirt, dark jeans, and nothing else. Stiles looks back down, and can see Derek's toes wiggling around in the grass. Stiles's smile gets wider, just looking at how adorable that is._

_ "If you think that's cute, maybe you should look at my face more often."_

_ Stiles lifts his head so fast he might get whiplash, and sees Derek standing closer than he was before. 'How could I have not noticed him coming closer…'_

_ "Because this isn't real. Well… not as real as it could be." Derek's hand goes to grab at Stiles's, and brings it close to his chest._

_ "How are you doing that?" Stiles asks, voice wary but keeping his hand where Derek placed it. It feels warm._

_ "It's the dream-scape," Derek explains, "it allows you to do whatever you want it to do. I can hear your thoughts… you can hear mine… anything."_

_ "I can hear your thoughts?" Stiles questions. Then, without warning, he tests this ability. He squints his eyes in an attempt to "peer" into Derek's mind, oblivious to Derek's grin._

_ 'You're so cute.'_

_ Stiles blinks. That was so not what he expected. His face gets redder than it was before, and he looks back down at the ground._

_ Or he would, if Derek's other hand didn't lift up his chin to keep him level with Derek's. Even if Derek's hand wasn't holding him there, Stiles thinks he would not be able to look away then. Derek's eyes just spoke so much, more than any mind-reading ability would be able to give any day. Stiles is so distracted by the emotion in Derek's eyes that he almost misses Derek speaking._

_ "…I was dreaming about you while I got shot."_

_ "You were?"_

_ "Yeah," Derek confirms, "I wasn't able to tell which event was really happening: Kate showing up… or you and I talking in the locker room. I asked you how you knew when you were dreaming and you said you knew because you would have-_

_ "six fingers…" Stiles finishes, "so that's why you said… it's all starting to make sense."_

_ "And even though this is a dream," Derek continues, holding up Stiles's hands, "you still have ten fingers."_

_ Stiles blinks down at his fingers, counting and confirming the number to be ten. That can't be. He knows he should have more than ten, but he doesn't._

_ "Because this isn't actually a dream…" Derek answers, "while I'm in the coma, my mind is allowed to wander. I was able to form a connection between us, a mental link. I also used that time to think… about you." If it's even possible, Derek's eyes glow brighter and his gaze becomes more adoring. "Why would I dream about you, moments away from my death? The annoying kid who adds nothing but bad jokes and puns to make my life miserable-"_

_ "Not really feeling the love-mmph." Stiles starts to speak, but gets cut off when Derek covers his mouth with his hand, shooting Stiles an amused look._

_ "But then I thought about it more. They say that when people die, their life flashes before their eyes. And well… I never truly lived until I met you. My life had been empty. I had my family in the beginning, my pack, but I didn't feel like I belonged. I loved them, I still do, but I didn't think I belonged there. Then there was Paige, who captured my attention by how different she was. I loved her too, but looking back it wasn't the type of love they write stories about. After I… there was Kate. She fooled me, made me think that I found my place with her and, you know how that ended. Following that it had been a series of apartments, hook-ups, jobs, until I came back here, to Beacon Hills. Do you know that the first time I smiled, really smiled, since the fire was because of you? I almost forgot I could smile, until I saw myself in the mirror. The turn my life took after coming back has been crazy, but I found a steady rock with you. This coma has given time for me to reflect on my life, my choices… and the only good thing about it is you. Cora might still be alive, but I don't truly know her. And even though I have only known you for a little more than a year, well… I feel like I've known you for a lifetime. I didn't experience this with Paige, Kate, or even Jennifer. But… I do with you. And I know it's sudden and all of this shit keeps piling itself onto this craphole we call a town but… I love you, Stiles Stilinski."_

_ There are tears running down Derek's cheeks, and his eyes shine with hopefulness, with love. His mouth is stretched in the biggest grin Stiles has ever seen the man give. Stiles eyes are far from dry as well, making Derek's hand wet. Stiles pulls Derek's hand away from his mouth. He's shaking, from sadness, from happiness, from love, he does not know. But he does know one thing… _

_ "Genim."_

_ Derek gives Stiles a confused look. "What?"_

_ "Genim," Stiles reaffirms, "I always said that I wanted the person I love to know my real name." A small smile graces his tear-stained face, as he watches Derek's face morph from confusion back into happiness._

_ "Genim?" Derek asks with a grin._

_ "Genim."_

_ They rush at each other, becoming one. Hands pull at hair, skin touches skin, and lips bruise lips. Their tongues meet, swishing, swirling, pushing and pulling. The temperature starts to rise, and soon clothing is being taken off. One shirt, and then another are thrown to the forest floor. Derek's hands grab for Stiles's pants, unbuttoning them. His mouth moves from Stiles's mouth towards his neck._

_ "Oh Genim…" he mouths against the flushed skin._

_ "Nng, Derek… Derek…"_

"Derek!"

Stiles jumps from his bed, the moan erupting from his mouth. He is sweating profusely, his pupils widened with lust. He licks his lips, and wonders if what he just saw and did and heard… was _real._ His door opens, and his father comes through the door, worry etched clearly into his face. He approaches Stiles's bed and crouches towards his son.

"Stiles are you alright? I heard you yelling."

"Yeah, yeah, I am," Stiles says distractedly, "it was just a dream…"

"Stiles?" the Sherriff asks.

"Yeah, dad?"

"Where did you get that bruise?"

"What?" Stiles says, and looks towards his father. His dad's eyes are on his neck, and so Stiles grabs his phone he has laying near his bed and turns on the camera app. He looks at his neck to see a bruise on his neck. In the shape of someone's mouth. But not just any someone's: Derek's mouth. Stiles smiles, it was real.

"Stiles?" his father prods.

"It's a gift…" Stiles says, caressing the mark with his hand.

* * *

The bell rings.

Stiles is at his locker, but without the storm cloud that seemed to have been following him for the past few days. He takes his time, no rush. His eyes are half-lidded, and a grin to match that of the Cheshire is painted upon his face. Derek's leather jacket is still wrapped around him, and he has been getting more than his fair amount of stares from his peers from not only the jacket, but the hickey that has been tattooed on his skin. But he doesn't care.

The hallway has been cleared, and on the other side were Scott, Isaac, Kira, and Lydia.

"Alright I thought sad Stiles was creeping me out but this blissed out Stiles is worse," Isaac admits, being the first one to say something.

"What happened?" Kira questions, "He was doom and gloom before, but now he's sunshine and lollipops!"

"Beats me," Scott joins in, "yesterday he was a mess from when Lydia and I found him."

"Yeah," Lydia agrees, "he was nowhere near as peppy as he was yesterday in Derek's loft."

Kira side-eyes the two of them, "You two went out together yesterday?"

Scott puts his arm around Kira, "Well, we had to find Stiles. Sorry we didn't call you two."

Isaac pipes up, "Eh, it's fine. I was busy doing other stuff anyway."

Kira looks down, "Yeah… I was busy too."

Scott gives her a weird look, but can say nothing else as Stiles floats towards the little group.

"Hey guys," he says, "don't you know we have class right now. I mean, we usually do, you should know this. Yet this isn't the first time we skipped, right? There were probably countless times that we all have skipped to fight the new big bad that rolled into town. But we don't know where Kate is, so why are we skipping? Do they know about Kate? I don't think they do, but they should know. We are pack, and pack should know everything. Family. Ohana means family, and family means never getting left be-"

"STILES!"

"What?" Stiles loses the faraway look in his eyes and refocuses on his friends and sees how exasperated they look. "Was I rambling?"

They nod.

"Sorry," he winces.

"Did you forget to take your meds?" Scott asks.

"Did I?" Stiles thinks for a minute, "I guess I did. Weird. But I have to get to class." He starts to make his way from the pack before Isaac asks:

"Where did you get that giant hickey, Stiles?"

Stiles slows his movements, and turns to his friends, that smile and faraway look back in his eyes. His hand clasps around the area on his neck where the skin is discolored. "From someone… in a dream."

The confused stares do not even faze him, and they are about to ask more about the mark before the bell rings.

The fire bell.

Students rush out of their classrooms, making haste to file out of the school in an orderly fashion like they were instructed to from a very early age. But that never works. Now they just try their best to not trample anyone like a Black Friday mob. The group gets separated. Stiles gets pulled in one direction. Kira and Lydia find themselves being pushed with the crowd. Scott and Isaac find a secluded classroom to wait out the frenzied classmates.

"I wonder who pulled the fire alarm this time?" Isaac asks.

"My bad," a voice says from behind, "I thought I'd announce my little visit. You know I have a pension for… starting fires."

The two boys look behind them to find a more than alive Kate Argent, sitting seductively on the teacher's desk with one leg over the other.

The two wolf up, fangs elongating, claws sharpening, fur growing. Isaac's eyes glow a liquid gold while Scott's burn with red fire. Kate matches them were for were, transitioning into her were state.

"What are you doing here?" Scott spits out between his fangs.

"I thought Stiles delivered my message," she jokes, "but I understand if you didn't get it, I mean last time I saw him he was a bit shaken up. Knowing that I am back and that Derek was… well, you know."

Isaac growls, and she hisses.

"Leave Stiles out of this!" Scott roars.

"Sorry, pup, but _everything_ is fair game." Kate mocks, "Not even poor, dead Allison. Such a shame, really." She covers her heart with her hand, bows her head in sorrow, but the feral smile on her face shows her true feelings.

Isaac, not able to control his rage, pounces for her. However the hand that is not covering her heart grabs him by the throat and slams him into a desk, breaking it with the heavy force. Scott joins the fray, but is too slow for the powerful were, and finds himself face down on the teacher's desk. Kate moves close to his ear, and licks it. Scott can only shudder.

"It may not look like it, what with the green eyes and all…" she whispers, "but I am an alpha too."

Scott's eyes widen, and he stops his struggle to process the information she has bequeathed him. Isaac shakes off the wood and lunges for her again, but is forcibly grabbed by the collar of his shirt. Kate pulls him forward, pulls Scott back, until their skulls connect in a mighty blow. Conciousness flies from their eyes, and they collapse into a heap on her feet.

"I think I hear sounds coming from in here."

Lydia opens the door, Kira and Stiles right behind her, and they find the unconscious bodies of their friends on the ground. They each look up to see the culprit, and each freeze, they tense. Kate looks at them. She stares past the two girls, and bores her gaze straight through Stiles.

"Cute jacket," she says, "I'd take it from you if I didn't think I made my point already. Tootles kids, you'll be seeing more of me. Especially you, Stiles." She blows a quick kiss his way and jumps through an open window, disappearing into the broad daylight.

Kira and Lydia go to the crumbled boys and try their best to wake them up. Stiles stays rooted to the spot, his hands gripping the leather. He is on the verge of another panic attack. He breathes in the scent of pine, of cologne, of Derek, and his frayed nerves calm down. He's still scared, but at least he can still do something. He moves over to the others, and stands with them. Lydia got to the group first and helped support Scott, while Kira looked on skeptically as she held onto Isaac. Both boys leaned into the girls unconsciously.

"So I take it that was Kate?" Kira asks the room, answered by a groan from Scott. Lydia puts her hand on his chest, but quickly recoils it. Kira's eyes burn her hand, and she looks at the ground as Scott addresses his pack.

"Yes, that was," he reconfirms his groan, "and now she's stronger than ever. She's a were-something."

"You don't know?" Kira asks.

"It didn't look like anything we saw before," Isaac squeaks in, wincing as his body heals. His grip on Kira's body tightens, and she is pressed up against him. Her face blushes red for a moment, and before anyone could notice, Stiles starts talking.

"Yeah, apparently we're dealing with Kate Argent 2.0. Bigger, badder, and bitchier."

"And also apparently a were!" Lydia yells at Stiles, "Did you not think that that would have been important to know!?" He winces.

"I didn't?"

"No!"

"…Sorry."

"Stop arguing," Scott commands, his eyes bleeding red, "it won't help anything. Right now, we have to go to Deaton's."

He moves away from Lydia and makes his way out of the room. He stops and turns to face his comrades. "You guys coming?"

They follow him out of the wrecked classroom, and into the chaos that is the mob of students refilling the halls.

* * *

"So Kate Argent is back?"

Deaton stands in his clinic surrounded by the teens he has come to know over the course of the year. They have matured since he met them, and no longer bear the fresh-faced innocence they once had. It has been replaced with a tempered steel, ready to strike down anything before it gets out of hand.

"She is," Scott confirms, "and she's packing were powers."

"But she's not a wolf," Lydia tacks on at the end.

"She's also the one who hurt Derek," Stiles pipes up, "and is now ready to strike us all down."

Deaton gets into his thinking pose, then turns towards his counter. "You said she was a were now? Any distinct features?"

"Yeah, she had black skin, and these weird green eyes…" Isaac trails off, shivering with how creepy the supposed dead aunt of his dead almost girlfriend looked.

"Black skin? Green eyes?" Deaton repeats.

"Bingo," Stiles says, "is it ringing any bells?"

"It might be…" Deaton starts, "but that is impossible, they are all extinct…"

"Well Kate is apparently good at pulling off the impossible, her sudden resurrection is a testament to that," Lydia snarks.

Deaton makes a noise in the back of his throat, indicating he is thinking about something. Stiles rolls his eyes, patience wearing thin.

"We haven't got all day!" he finally exclaims.

Deaton gives him a bored look, then returns to his working position. "Come back in a couple of days, and then I'll have some more definite answers."

* * *

"Can Deaton ever give us a straight answer!"

Stiles is on the phone with Scott, in his room as everyone decided to split up when they exited the veterinarian's clinic. Kira and Scott went off towards his house, Lydia to the mall, and Isaac to who-knows-where.

"It's Deaton," Scott shrugs off, "what do you expect?"

"I _expect_ our resident emissary to give us answer, I _expect _Kate to be dead, I expect being able to talk to Derek without him playing possum!"

_"Please Stiles I'm right here…"_

"Wha-" Stiles chokes out a gasp, flailing off the bed. His phone flies out of his hand and lands next to him. Mutters of _"Stiles!"_ and _"Are you okay?!"_ are what he can hear from the phone, but Stiles is looking around the room for the source of the voice. He picks up his cell.

"Scott I'm gonna call you back."

Protests emerge from the phone, but Stiles still hits the "end call" button. He stands from his forlorn position. "Derek?" he asks the empty room, his dad being away at work.

_"Stiles, I'm in here."_

Stiles crosses his eyes, earning himself a headache for his efforts. "My brain? Even when I'm conscious?"

_"We don't share the same level of… intimacy as we would in dreams, but I can sometimes cross the barrier and communicate with you."_

Stiles smiles. "I…I like that."

_"I thought you would."_

"Would I be able to see you now if I fell asleep?"

_"You might…?"_

Stiles laughs at the tone of Derek's reply. Even as a voice he can hear the playful lilt to his words, the smirk accompanying them.

"Well then I better get ready for bed, Der."

* * *

In a dark, secluded area of the woods, Kate Argent is greeted by a man hiding in the shadows.

"I take it they got the message?" he says, white eyes glowing like a neon light in the darkness.

"And then some," she says, wiping imaginary dirt from her fingernails.

"All the pieces are falling into place…" he says, mouth stretched to its limits, canines glinting in the moonlight.

"What does that Stilinski kid have to do with this anyway?" Kate asks, eyes full of confusion, peering into the darkness where her master hides.

"All in due time, my pet," he purrs, "with the king down, the queen will come into his own. And once that happens, we'll snatch him off the board."

"If I had a nickel everytime I heard someone call the Stilinski kid a 'queen'…" she chuckles.

"But first," the man moves his hand into the light, a brittle finger pointing directly at Kate, "we need to move the other positions into place. The Blood Moon is almost in position… and once the celestial bodies line up… we'll have the world in our hands soon enough."

Maniacal laughter fills the dark woods, and for one of the only times in Kate Argent's life, she shivers from _fear._

Somewhere in the town of Beacon Hills, the teen Stiles Stilinski sleeps in obliviousness, uttering small prayers of Derek's name. Small sparks are flying from his fingers, as his body is aglow. On the back of his neck is a small sigil, a circle with a cross in it, and a dot in the center.

**So... do you guys likey? Please send me a review or whatnot!**


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